Let me tell you—
Fucking your wife with a hundred and two temperature while trying not to puke and doing it only to get your sperm inside of her was not fun. Or enjoyable. For either of us.
I’m not even sure when the last time was we had sex for fun. I don’t know the last time either of us woke up on a Sunday morning, even during the off-season when I had nowhere to be and reached for the other. When we spent a weekend tangled in sheets only pausing to shower and order pizza, which we ate in bed so we could get re-tangled in the sheets again.
Our intimacy became tied to a doctor’s appointment or a line on an ovulation stick. But even with all of that I tried…
Damn it. I am so damn tired of trying so hard.
A pound on my window makes me jolt. I turn to see Duke’s ugly mug grinning back at me. I slap my hand to the window to piss him off and shut off my car.
He steps back and as soon as he hears the doors unlock, opens my door.
“Get the hell out of here. Time to stop moping.”
“I’m not moping.” I wouldn’t call what I’ve been doing moping. I’ve been angry. Confused. Extremely pissed off. Worried. Moping? I haven’t had the time for that.
“Sure you are.” He throws his arm over my shoulders and shoves me toward the bar with him like I’d run if he didn’t force me inside.
Not entirely inaccurate, but I shove him off.
“You smell, Fletch.”
He shoves up his arm and sniffs his armpit. “Nah. That’s good old-fashioned Old Spice right there.” At twenty-five, Duke reminds me a lot of myself. He’s also married to his high school sweetheart, Regan, who’s a total doll and possible half-angel for putting up with this guy. He’s off the wall bonkers. He’s the guy you want at all the parties. He’s the fun guy, the loudmouth, the beer drinking, down to earth, rabble-rouser as my grandpa would call him.
Tonight, he’s the last person I want to be around.
He throws the door open to George’s and for a moment I don’t immediately realize my eyes have gone straight to the bar.
Where a tiny little thing in a tight black shirt and her hair in pigtails is busy pouring drinks. Black towel tucked into the back of her jeans, I notice when she turns away.
Shit.
I shouldn’t be here.
Chapter Six
Gigi
I tense up as soon as Jude and Jason saunter into the bar, grinning happily due to their win earlier. They lift their hands in a hello gesture to me, request three pitchers of a wheat ale and as many clean glasses as I have before taking up a few tables on the far side of the bar near our pool table.
Steve and Tim are in their usual spots at the bar, sipping their drinks, talking about the game. They tell the guys good game before looking back at the television screens above the bar.
I grab what Jason and Jude request, bringing a pitcher and a few glasses to start with over to where they’ve made themselves comfortable in a booth by the pool table.
“Saw that y’all had a great win tonight.”
“Can’t complain,” Jude says. His dark hair flops over his forehead and he shoves it back. “How’s it been here lately?”
“Quiet. Dad and I do somethin’ to offend our favorite customers? Y’all haven’t been in much.” I haven’t seen anyone from the team since New Year’s when Sebastian was here.
“Just got done with a long away stretch. Figured we could blow off some steam before heading back out again in a few days.”
“Saw the game. You’re playing great.”
“That’s because I’m the best,” Jude says, grinning and filling his glass.
“She meant the team, dumbass. Besides, we all know I’m better.”
Brothers. These guys are a trip.
“Two hundred bucks says I’m better than you at pool.”
Jason grabs his wallet from his pocket and thumbs through a thick stack of cash before slapping down two one-hundred-dollar bills. “You’re on, dipshit.”
“The team coming in too?” I ask as they slide out of the booth, grinning at each other in that way I know there’s bound to be some serious shit-talking coming soon.
“Yeah. Most of the rest will be here soon.”
“Good. I’ll bring out the rest of the pitchers when they get here.”
“Thanks, Gigi,” Jason says. “Your dad on tonight, too?”
“He’s in the back office right now. Need him?”
“Nope. Just making sure you’re not here alone. It might get busy.”
“We’ll get you handled.”
“Always do. That’s why we like it here so much.” He grabs for his wallet again and hands me another hundred dollars. “This is for a bottle of your best bourbon. Bring that to the table with a few shot glasses, too okay? On me.”
“Maker’s Mark?” I ask before I can stop myself. I haven’t been able to pour a glass of bourbon without thinking of Sebastian and wondering how he’s doing.
“You know Sebastian’s favorite drink?”
Unfortunately. I slide the cash into my pocket and shrug.
I attempt an innocent expression. “Is it for him?”
Based on the narrowing of Jason’s blue eyes, I fail. “Yeah.”
“Hey old man!” Jude shouts. We both turn to where he’s chalking up the tip of his cue. “You get so old you need a cane to get your ass moving or what?”
“Brothers,” Jason mumbles, winking at me. “Little brothers are a pain in the ass.” He grabs his beer and heads toward the table.
I trudge back to the bar and try to shake off the sudden, strange tingling sensation in my fingertips.
Sebastian and I have done nothing wrong. So why does it feel like I lied to Jason for no reason?
If he’s surprised I know what Sebastian drinks he either doesn’t realize I’m a bartender and that’s my job, or Sebastian hasn’t told anyone of his night getting skunk drunk at my bar.
I’m back where I belong, filling pitchers and setting up more glasses on a tray to take when my dad makes his appearance, first going over to where Jude and Jason are and shakes their hands.
He’s moving slower these days. He gets mad at me when I ask him about his health, but he isn’t losing the weight the doctors have told him he needs to. Fortunately, when he was hospitalized and I got the phone call from my aunt, it wasn’t anything serious and the doctor said he was overworked and needed to slow down. Not that he’s done much of that, either.
“When it’s my time, it’s my time,” he always mumbles when I try to get him to do something different.
The problem is, when it’s his time… it leaves me alone. And I’m not ready to think about that yet.
For now, I smile as he clasps Jason and Jude on the back, watch as he jokes with them and hangs out while they shoot pool, and I slowly brace myself for the arrival of Sebastian. If another bottle of bourbon has been ordered, it means he’s most likely not in any better of a mood than he was the last time I saw him.
I’m aware of the exact moment he walks into the bar. I’m serving Sawyer a fresh bottle of beer, and I’m not facing the door at all, but I still know it’s him. Partly because Sawyer turns in that direction and he tenses. The bottle of Maker’s Mark Jason paid for earlier is still sitting untouched, unopened, like he’s not letting anyone touch the thing until Sebastian arrives.